JAG: An Old Friend
by TnJAGAz
Summary: Harm finds an old friend in the 'Boneyard' and wonders if he did the right thing...


An Old Friend

Authors: TxJAG_b

Email: 

Rating: G

Classification: Harm finds an old friend and wonders if he did the right thing  
>Spoilers: Anything from Season nine up to Harm's return to JAG….<p>

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of Donald Bellisario, Belisaurius Productions, Paramount Pictures and Columbia Broadcasting Service Entertainment – this story is for non-profit entertainment of JAG fans only. No copyright infringement is intended or implied.

A/N1: Okay, maybe F-14Cs haven't made it to the boneyard yet [when this was originally posted in 2003-2004], for the sake of this story, let's assume they had.

A/N2: Thanks to Lisa for giving this the once over. If we missed anything, mistakes found are mine.

0430 Zulu

Davis-Monthan Air Force Base

Tucson, Arizona

As the late afternoon faded into early evening, a worn and weary C-130 headed for a dusty touchdown at the far end of the airfield. As the aged aircraft rolled to halt, the pilot and co-pilot, Harmon Rabb, Jr. and Beth O'Neil, unbuckled themselves from their seats.

"See? I told you I could land without crashing," Harm winked as he pulled himself from his worn seat.

Beth rolled her eyes. "Are all you former Top Guns this irritating?"

"Who said I was a 'former Top Gun'? He flashed a blinding grin at her. "I flew the Aurora, didn't I?"

She slowly shook her head and chuckled. "Harm, she doesn't exist, remember?"

"Oh yeah," he winked at her, "Right"

"Come on," She said, grabbing a backpack, "Let's go see what they got planned for us."

Harm and Beth walked across the dusty field in silence. All around them sat row upon row of retired aircraft in storage at this desert facility. Harm walked past a row of F-15A Eagles F-16A Fighting Falcons and a few F-4 Phantoms. Some had been cannibalized for spare parts, others sat sealed against the elements waiting for either a foreign buyer or removal to the scrap yard for dismantling.

"Kind of creepy, isn't it?"

"Huh?"

She smiled at him again. "Earth to Harm, come in Harm,"

He looked at her confused.

"The line of planes we've been passing Harm," she explained, "Don't they give you the creeps?"

He looked around at the silent aircraft. "I hadn't really thought about it."

She stopped and put her hands on her hips. "Really."

"Yeah," he said turning away from her, "I'm thinking about our upcoming mission-"

Harm stopped in mid-sentence when he saw the F-14C sitting ahead of him. To him it would have been just another plane if not for the insignia and unit nomenclature still visible on the tail of the aircraft.

The tail still had its designator code TA, meaning the plane once belonged to the U.S.S. Patrick Henry. Along the body of the craft was stenciled 'USS Patrick Henry' along with the insignia for Harm's unit from his last active flying days, VF-218, the "Raptors". As Harm stared at her, a familiar ache returned.

In his mind's eye he could see Skates, his RIO, smiling and waving at him, the members of his old squadron handing him his helmet with the name 'Hammer' stenciled on it, his talks with Captain Ingles, and the CAG of the Patrick Henry, and his many traps

Harm let out a deep sigh, that was the past, the long dead past. He watched as a young airman walked toward them. He was carrying a PDA and making notes on it as he walked past the planes.

"Harm-"

"Just a minute," he said to Beth.

"Airman…."

"Yes Sir?" said the blond headed kid who looked to be about nineteen, maybe twenty at the most.

"What are you doing?" Harm pointed to his PDA.

"Oh this? These old birds are scheduled for scrapping, I'm just marking them so the scrapping crew can find them in the morning…."

"In the morning…." repeated Harm.

"Yes Sir," replied the Airman, "Is there a problem?"

Harm shook his head. "No, no problem, Airman, just curious."

Beth took his hand. "Harm, come on, we'll miss our briefing."

The former aviator-lawyer took one last look at the mothballed Tomcat. As he did, another scene replayed in his mind:

_Hi! _

_Hey! How'd you know where I was? _

_Where else would you be on a carrier during ops?_

_In the front seat of an F-14. _

_Not this trip._

_I can dream._

_You know, I'm starting to understand how you feel, Harm. When I was on board the LHA, I got an idea of what it's like to be out at sea. Everything else-whatever personal problems you might have-it all goes away. Nothing seems important in the face of what you're doing. _

_There was a time you hated it here._

_Nothing stays the same._

_Tell me about it. _

_I'm glad you're here. _

Harm shook his head, that part of his life was gone too. But as he did to clear the thought, something deep down told him no matter how bad it was right now, there was still a chance.

As if to confirm that thought, an errant ray of sunlight sparkled and hit the zippered pocket where he kept one memento from his past. A picture of him and Mac posing in Afghanistan – 'Butch and Sundance' Mac had joked. Despite all that had happened, he couldn't throw away that picture. Now that ray of light shone on that part of his nondescript flight suit, just below his generic name tag.

"Harm, come on, we're going to be late for our briefing."

Harm shook himself from his reverie and left the silent planes to their fate. He had a job to do. He'd have time later to contemplate what had happened out here.

- FINI


End file.
